


we used to talk all night

by thir13enth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, M/M, voltron s7 spoilers, with no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:50:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15372060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thir13enth/pseuds/thir13enth
Summary: He knows he shouldn’t, but he calls Adam anyway.





	we used to talk all night

**Author's Note:**

> we don't even know the dude, but i got obsessed. sorry.

Shiro’s hand hovers over the name displayed on the screen, the blue hologram light flickering over his fingertips.

Weeks before take-off, as the spaceship was in preparation for travel to Kerberos, he was allotted only one contact to put on file for video calls throughout expedition. At the time, it wasn’t difficult for Shiro to provide just a single contact, and he did not hesitate once — rattling off a long-since-memorized SLD code addressed straight to Adam.

Of course, this was before their last goodbye.

Now, as everyone else on the ship retreats to their cabins to talk to their family or friend or significant other over video, Shiro finds himself unable to call any of those — after all, what is Adam? A best friend he no longer talks to? A classmate he graduated with? A co-pilot he no longer works with? A stranger he used to know?

Shiro sighs heavily. He knows he shouldn’t call him, but there’s a tear gnawing at the center of his chest that he can’t take anymore. He thinks anything is better than this uncertainty, this non-closure — he’d take even another full and complete break, just so that he can let go of this hopeful thinking that has been distracting him from the mission since leaving ground.

He closes his eyes and lets his fingers touch Adam’s name.

The dial tone starts, and Shiro’s heart starts thrumming in panic, regretting his actions immediately.

Shut it off. Hang up. He’s not going to pick up. He’s not going to want to talk at all.

What is he even thinking — trying to call him after he chose the stars over him?

But then the screen opens up — and when Shiro sees his familiar brown eyes, rimmed by the same dorky rectangular glasses, he almost bursts into tears.

“Adam,” he calls out, a dense ball at the back of his throat. His voice clips off at the end of Adam’s name.

It’s still hard for him to accept he can’t call him by any other name — not babe, not love, not honey, nothing his heart wants to call him.

“Hey Takashi,” Adam greets him, saying his name in the way that always made his stomach flutter ever since Adam first ever said it.

Adam has a small smile on his face, and for the first time, Shiro doesn’t know what it means.

“Hey,” Shiro croaks. He swallows slowly. “How’s it going?”

“I should be asking _you_ that,” Adam snorts. “Things are the same as ever at the Garrison. The incoming class of pilots just arrived, and boy, do they need help.”

Shiro laughs softly. “Cut them some slack. I don’t think we were much different when we first came to the Academy.”

Adam also laughs. “I guess,” he agrees. He chooses not to reminisce about their past. “The mission’s going well, I presume? That’s how you’re still able to talk to me, I suppose. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have time to make a call.”

Shiro thinks Adam might be reminding him about the last time Shiro shot himself up in space for a mission — he hadn’t returned a single call until the day he was landing — but he knows thinking that is too optimistic.

Adam has moved on, and Adam doesn’t want to discuss a single moment of their past.

“Yeah, it’s actually going great,” Shiro finally answers. “We’re actually a little ahead of schedule. Commander Holt’s got me on payload management — which is a lot more responsibility than I expected. I thought he’d just keep me as solely the navigational specialist.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Adam replies, almost flatly.

“Shiro?” a loud voice calls outside of his cabin. “Sorry to interrupt — we have to do some reconnaissance before Main shuts off communications for their night-cycle.”

“Got it. No problem,” Shiro immediately responds. He whips his head back to face Adam. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I have to—"

“That’s fine, I heard. You’re busy,” Adam says quickly. “Thanks for calling.”

“Yeah.” Shiro holds his breath. “Thanks for picking up.”

“Yeah, bye,” Adam finishes. “I don’t want to hold you up from your duties. Hear from you soon.”

He doesn’t say ‘I love you.’

Shiro doesn’t either.

.

.

Shiro doesn’t call Adam the next day.

He decides to wait another day-night cycle before reaching out again. Of course, it’s a long twenty-four hours, but Shiro knows that Adam likes nothing less than clingy ex-boyfriends.

Adam had told him about all these past exes.

That must have been when Adam thought Shiro wasn’t going to be one.

.

.

Ultimately when Shiro does call Adam, he doesn’t pick up.

Adam calls back in the middle of the ship’s night-cycle with apologies, but Shiro doesn’t have much to say to him anyway.

“How’s it going?”

“The new class is improving, slowly but surely. You?”

“We’re still making good time. We’ve accelerated to about 30 percent max speed now, so we should be settling into hypersleep next week, assuming there aren’t any obstacles that prevent us from attaining steady state.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Yeah.”

Adam looks off to the side, smiling and waving at someone beyond the screen.

It’s a genuine smile — one that Shiro hasn’t seen in what feels like years.

“Hey, sorry. I gotta go,” Adam says. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay.”

This time, they don’t even say goodbye.

.

.

Calls back to Earth grow shorter and less frequent.

Shiro used to think of Adam at least five times a day.

Funny things would happen while on board, and Shiro would automatically remember them just to share the experience with Adam — only to remind himself that Adam wouldn’t care very much for his stories any longer.

He’d have a glimpse of a faraway planet he used to only imagine through a telescope lens and he would be elated his childhood dreams of seeing it so close and in person, separated by just the insulated quartz glass of a small round window, were coming true — only to remember that these dreams were the reason Adam wasn’t in his life anymore.

Eventually Shiro learns to not think of Adam very much.

Adam only appears in his dreams, and his name remains untouched on Shiro’s screen.

.

.

Two days before the ship flies completely out of range for video call transmission to Earth, Shiro decides to call Adam — for maybe the very last time in a very long time.

Adam doesn’t pick up.

He doesn’t pick up the next day either.

Call failed, his screen reads to him.

.

.

A few minutes before all communication with Earth is lost, Shiro stands in front of the video call screen, his hand hovering over a single name flickering on the monitor.

He closes his eyes, and he doesn’t let his fingers touch Adam’s name.

The next time he opens his eyes, he sees white-and-black static — the ship has moved completely past range of transmission — and Shiro convinces himself that he missed his last chance at reconnecting, hesitating at the choice to press the button.

But it’s a lie he tells himself. Because he knows that even if the ship was still able to connect, Shiro wouldn’t hear from Adam anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> y'all know where to find me:
> 
> tumblr @ ahumanintraining  
> twitter @ napsbeforesleep


End file.
